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Sunday Translation By Asim Bhattacharya (Original: Manas Sarkar)
By: Asim Bhattacharya (Original: ‘অপেক্ষা’ by Manas Sarkar)
It’s the Nor’Westerly storm. Raindrops with a rustic smell. I am touched with the maiden drop. A flash of lightning in the brain. Startled. A caress of pleasure infuses into thoughts and embraces me. The soul desires me to liven it up.
Straight to home in the throes of wind and rain. While going to sit at the writing table after changing the drenched clothes, my wife comes up with her order rather than a request.
– There will be no curry for the dinner. Bring oil from the market. I comply to grease my better half. Still, a smile hanging on my face amid the storm and rain outside. Once it has come, it will surely take an eternal form, I perceive. Tublu, as soon as I’m back, – Tomorrow is my unit test. Would you please help me in writing a passage? She is delighted as I agree. Half an hour in that. The pen is already in my hand. And the idea of giving the eternal form a shape too. It may be lost in the abyss if left un-nurtured. So … I’m ready. A bunch of papers before me. Words travelling to and fro. Now a phone call.
My eyes alternately moving between the phone and the blank sheets of paper. Someone should pick up the phone. No, I had to get up. It’s mom calling. On a fixed day every week. Fifteen minutes with mom. It is only frustration as I uncap the pen. Nowhere. Nowhere around despite my thorough hunt. Nor a little hint. Nor’Wester in my breath. Drops of rain in the eyes. Pen shut. I retire to my bed, try to find it in the dreams. Not even there.
The editor wasn’t pleased with whatever I could gather. He would surely appreciate, had I recollected it all. A storm again on my way back. Again the rustic smell. Longing for the eternal form ….
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